


Unfinished Files

by SilentSilhouette



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Persona Fusion, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSilhouette/pseuds/SilentSilhouette
Summary: Designated dumping place of things that I will probably never finish.Batman Gamer!AU - Chapter 1, 3Kuroko no Basuke/Persona 4 Fusion - Chapter 2Latest: Chapter 3 - Batman Gamer!AU Pt. 2





	1. DC (Batman) - Press Start 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been trawling through my fic folder and I noticed there was a shit ton of stuff that I never got around to finishing. I thought it was a waste to just keep them hidden away forever, so I will post them here for anyone/no one to enjoy.
> 
> **Everything here is up for adoption, but I would appreciate it if you ask first :)**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up to life as a video game - and is not impressed. It was way too damn early to deal with this shit.

It was an uncharacteristically bright and sunny Saturday morning when it happened.

Birds were chirping, a nice breeze was blowing, and for once there were no explosions or screams of terror or laughs from a psychopathic maniac disturbing the morning routine of Gotham city's residents.

Bruce Wayne, Gotham's resident twelve-year-old billionaire orphan and aspiring vigilante, had left a note his butler Alfred the night before that he would be sleeping in and not to disturb him. Unfortunately, life loved messing with Bruce Wayne, and thus the moment he got exactly eight hours of sleep, an annoying sound that suspiciously sounded like it came from a video game blared through his head. 

Bruce cracked an eye open.

 **Bruce Wayne (LV 1)**  
**HP 600/600**  
**MP 600/600**  
**EXP 0/100**

Bruce grumbled and covered his face with a pillow. It was too early to deal with whatever insanity Gotham was cooking up right now. 

* * *

 Bruce woke up again two hours later. He got out of bed and put a shirt on, steadily ignoring the words on the top left of his vision. He went downstairs where the smell of scrambled eggs permeated the air and persuaded him to walk slightly faster to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted him, proper as ever. He placed a plate on the island table. “Today’s breakfast is scrambled egg with tomatoes, toast, and your usual orange juice.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” He disregarded the Alfred Pennyworth (LV 56) above the butler’s head, sat down, and sipped his orange juice.

A little more awake now, Bruce finally acknowledged the words floating above his surrogate father’s head. “Alfred, are you aware of the words floating above your head?”

Alfred sent Bruce a questioning glance.

Bruce sighed. There went that idea. 

And then the world stopped. The clock hanging above the doorway paused. Alfred froze in the middle of setting down a cup of tea. A bird passing by the window stayed motionless in mid-air. Everything was silent.

Bruce stared at his empty cup and took a deep breath. “What. Now?”

 **Mission Alert! Dude, Have You Seen Your Stats?**  
**Objective: Explore the game mechanics!**  
**Completion Reward: +200 EXP, an idea of what the fuck is going on**  
**Failure Penalty: -200 SAN, one-way trip to the Arkham Asylum**  
**Do you accept? [YES] [NO]**  
**Note: Refusing a mission is an automatic failure.**

Bruce glared at the floating words in front of him. He tried to think back to yesterday, to what he could’ve done to deserve this—

Ah.

His shoulders sagged.

He knew he shouldn’t have eaten that cake. Now karma was coming back to bite him. But the cake was _so. frickin’. good._ He couldn’t bring himself to regret having eaten that cake. Nothing, _nothing_ beat Alfred’s triple chocolate layer cake with buttercream frosting and sprinkled with hazelnuts.

He accepted the mission, because it was pretty much instinct for every Gothamite to just go along with whatever insanity was going on and hope for the best. Whatever was happening right now way out of his league and the last thing he wanted was a one-way trip to the Arkham Asylum. He waited for something to happen, but there was nothing else aside from a little happy _ping!_ after he accepted the mission. Then a taskbar appeared at the top left of his vision.

 **Bruce Wayne (LV 1)**  
**HP 600/600**  
**MP 600/600**  
**EXP 0/100**  
**[status]**  
**[profile]**  
**[titles]**  
**[skills]**  
**[inventory]**  
**[party]**  
**[missions]**  
**Money $0**

Bruce, for lack of anything better to do, pressed the floating status button.

 **STR 5**  
**VIT 5 (+1)**  
**END 5 (+1)**  
**SPD 6 (+1)**  
**DEX 9**  
**INT 14 (+5)**  
**WIS 14 (+5)**  
**LUC 3 (+5)**  
**SAN 3 (-15)**  
**Points: 0**

Bruce stared blankly at the numbers. He didn’t play video games, and while he had a vague idea as to what some of the abbreviations meant, he didn’t know how to translate those words into definitions that actually meant something useful.

A pop-up appeared in front of the window.

 **LV – level – determines overall level of threat to enemies, gain rewards by levelling up!**  
**HP – health points – determines your health, don’t let it reach 0 or you’ll die!**  
**MP – mana points – determines your stamina and energy, don’t let it reach 0 or you’ll faint!**  
**EXP – experience points – determines amount of experience and the next level up**  
**STR – strength – determines physical strength**  
**VIT – vitality – determines HP and HP regeneration rate**  
**END – endurance – determines MP and MP regeneration rate**  
**SPD – speed – determines speed**  
**DEX – dexterity – determines skill and accuracy**  
**INT – intelligence – determines crystallized knowledge and memorization rate**  
**WIS – wisdom – determines logic and reasoning**  
**LUC – luck – determines luck in daily life and the amount and quality of loot dropped by enemies**  
**SAN – sanity – determines sanity**  
**Points – extra stat points; use it to increase any stat you wish. Choose wisely!**

Bruce snorted at his negative SAN stat. That sounded about right. As for the rest… He didn’t have anything else to compare the numbers to, so he didn’t know if they were relatively good or bad numbers. He did take pride in his intelligence and wisdom though. He knew, despite what some of those snobby socialites thought, he was smarter than most kids his age.

Having explored that, he then clicked on the profile button that appeared below the status button.

**Bruce Wayne is the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He swore to wreak vengeance and inflict terror on the on the criminals of Gotham after watching the murders of his parents as a young child. He supports philanthropic causes, hopes to run Wayne Enterprises in the future, and is currently planning on running away to train with ninjas.**

… Fair enough.

Bruce clicked on the titles bar below profile.

 **[permanent] The Gamer: -5 SAN, +5 LUC**  
**[permanent] Gotham Resident: -5 SAN, +1 VIT, +1 END, +1 SPD**  
**[permanent] Tragic Orphan: -10 SAN, -10 LUC,**  
**[equipped] Heir to the Wayne Fortune: +5 INT, +5 WIS, +10 LUC, +5 SAN**

Bruce sneered at the permanent Tragic Orphan title. That title was the reason why his sanity was in the negatives. He was _not_ a tragic orphan. His parents' deaths was a tragedy, but he himself was not a tragic person. Besides, he had Alfred! 

(except he knew, deep down, that his insanity had taken the form of an obsession with that tragedy and he was never going to let it go)

Still deep in denial, he furiously clicked on the next bar, the skills bar.

 **Acting, Beginner (LV 1/50) – 0/100**  
**Business, Beginner (LV 1/50) – 0/100**  
**Detective, Beginner (LV 1/50) – 0/100**  
**Martial Arts, Beginner (LV 1/50) – 0/100**  
**Observe* (LV 1/50) – 0/100**  
***Observe is a special program that allows you to observe other people’s stats, profiles, and abilities.**

Bruce, calming down now that he was at a neutral subject, wondered how to active the Observe skill. At that moment, he glanced at the cup of tea and was surprised at the little textbox that appeared above it.

**Earl Grey Tea  
A hot cup of tea brewed by Alfred Pennyworth. It’s the most English cup of tea in Gotham. +5 HP, +5 MP**

The Observe skill was intriguing, but the rest… Bruce glared incredulously at his pathetic skills. Fine! If that was how they wanted to play it, this just gave him more incentive to train even more than ever.

Under the skills bar was the inventory.

**Inventory*: empty**

***Your inventory is one of the most useful programs of the video game world. You can put anything in there—food, clothes, weapons—and pull it out in the same condition you put it in before. To put something in your inventory, simply hold the item and will it to your inventory. To pull something from your inventory, simply will it to existence. Note: You cannot put certain things (such as people or animals) in your inventory. Try it with the cup of tea!**

Bruce was intrigued by this one. If this worked, he wouldn’t be restricted to the things he carried around in a bag anymore! He held the cup of tea and thought, _get in my inventory_. The tea disappeared immediately. He tried willing it to existence, and the tea appeared in his hand, still piping hot.

That was, admittedly, awesome. He wondered if he could put in a car or a jet in his inventory. But that was for later. He noticed that there was also an indicator for how much money he had. Reaching into his pocket (yes, he carried around his wallet in his pyjamas), he pulled out a ten dollar note and put it in the inventory.

**Money $10**

He pulled summoned ten out from his inventory, this time in two five dollar bills.

**Money $0**

He studied the five dollar bills closely. It looked like the real deal, complete with the safeguards the US Mint used to detect counterfeit currency.

Underneath the inventory bar was a party button. He felt silly clicking on something that didn’t really exist. It was not unlike holograms, except holograms didn’t exist in real life (yet—he was working on that).

He tried mentally clicking on the party button. It worked.

**Party*  
[Bruce Wayne], [empty], [empty], [empty], [empty]**

***The Party system allows anyone you invite to experience this awesome video game reality! Players in your party can see their own stats, everyone else’s stats, and benefit from the video game mechanics, just like you. Only you can invite and uninvite players to your party. The invitee must accept the invite to benefit from the mechanics. The party system has a limit of five players. Note: Anything the other players do while in the party is permanent, including anything their put in the inventory. If you uninvite them, they will not be able to access their inventory until you invite them again. Try to invite Alfred Pennyworth to your party.**

Bruce looked at the still-immobile Alfred and saw an invite button beneath his name. He clicked on it.

**Party  
[Bruce Wayne] [Alfred Pennyworth?] [empty] [empty] [empty]**

Bruce glanced at Alfred again. This time, there was an uninvite button beneath his name. He left Alfred in his party.

 **Mission Complete! Dude, Have You Seen Your Stats?**  
**Objectives: Explore the game mechanics!**  
**Completion Reward: +200 EXP , an idea of what the fuck is going on**

**Level Up!  
Reward: +3 Points, $10, bar of chocolate**

Bruce sighed. It hadn’t been more than five minutes since time stopped, and already he was mentally exhausted from trying to accept this ridiculousness.

And then time started again.

“My word!”

Right. Alfred had no idea what was going on.


	2. Kuroko no Basuke - Kismet 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroko Tetsuya moves into the small, foggy town of Seirin, where he encounters unusual people, a murder mystery, and a strange television phenomenon known as the Midnight Channel... Persona 4 AU.

A small, blue-haired boy rested his head on the table, using his head as a pillow, and looked out of the train to the speeding countryside. It was a long ride from Tokyo to the little, prosperous town of Seirin. His parents were going on an extended business trip that involved flying to another country every three weeks, so they decided they would dump their only son onto his father’s mother so he could continue his education uninterrupted. It wasn’t that he was bitter about it—he completely understood their reasons—he just wished they would be more reluctant about it. His parents had looked all too happy to ditch him with his grandmother.

Banishing the negative thoughts, he buried his head into his arms and closed his eyes.

.

.

.

_“Welcome to the Velvet Room… It seems we have a guest with an intriguing destiny…”_

_The boy blinked and looked around, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of blue. He was in what looked like a luxurious limo. A minibar was on his left, bottles and shot glasses gleaming pristinely under the blue light; and in front of him was a small but elegant blue table. He couldn’t see anything outside the windows—just grey fog and the occasional flash of blue or purple light. In front of him were two people: a bizzare-looking balding man with bulging, bloodshot eyes and an incredibly large nose. Beside him was a beautiful blond-haired, golden-eyed woman dressed in a tasteful blue suit, matching the rest of the interior._

_“My name is Igor,” said the long-nosed man. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance. This place,” he waved his hand at the limo, “exists between dream and reality, mind and matter… It is a room that only those bound by a contract may enter. It may be that such a fate awaits you in the near future. Now then, why don’t you introduce yourself?”_

_“Kuroko Tetsuya,” the boy said softly._

_Igor hummed. “I see. Now let’s take a look into your future, shall we?” He placed his hand on top of the blue table and summoned a deck of tarot cards. “Do you believe in fortune telling?” He swiped his hand across the table and rearranged the cards into a square formation. “Each reading is done with the same cards, yet the result is always different.” He chuckled. “Life itself follows the same principles, doesn’t it?”_

_Igor flipped over one of the cards chosen from the deck. “Hmm… The Tower in the upright position represents the immediate future. It seems a terrible catastrophe is imminent. The card indicating the future beyond that is…” He flipped another card. “The Moon in the upright position. This card represents ‘hesitation’ and ‘mystery’… Very interesting indeed.” Igor leaned back and smiled creepily at Kuroko._

_“It seems you will encounter a misfortune at your destination, and a great mystery will be imposed upon you. In the coming days, you will enter into a contract of some sort, after which you will return here. The coming year is a turning point in your destiny… If the mystery goes unsolved, your future may be forever lost. My duty is to provide assistance to our guests to ensure that does not happen.” He waved his hand at the table and the cards disappeared._

_“Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I have neglected to introduce my assistant to you.” He gestured at the stoic blond woman at his side. “This is Margaret. She is a resident of this place, like myself.”_

_Margaret nodded slightly at Kuroko. “My name is Margaret. I am here to accompany you through your journey.”_

_Kuroko politely returned the greeting. Igor smiled. “We shall attend to the details another time. Until then, farewell…”_

.

.

.

Kuroko stepped off the train and looked around the almost empty train station. Being the countryside, there weren’t many people getting off at this stop, mostly locals coming back from a trip to the city. was also a lot quieter than he expected, and he expected something pretty quiet indeed. The countryside was nothing like the loud, bustling streets of Tokyo he was used to.

He exited the station and wandered around until he found the bus stop, sitting down on the bench to wait and carefully setting down the duffel bag he was carrying on the ground. He didn’t have much inside the bag; most of his stuff had already been delivered to his grandmother’s house a few days ago. A couple of others were also milling around, waiting for the bus that would take them to the heart of Seirin. They didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so he busied himself with a new game of chess on his phone, pausing occasionally in case the bus arrived.

“Halt!” Kuroko looked up. He and the other waiting travellers saw a man in a black ski mask running away from a policeman, a sack full of cash over his shoulder. The man… looked like a ridiculously stereotypical robber.

Kuroko, instinctively, stuck out his foot and tripped the robber. The police caught up to him and handcuffed the robber. The policeman looked around, confused as to why the robber had tripped so suddenly, and saw Kuroko. He jumped. “Oh, he-hey didn’t see you there. Anyway, thanks for tripping this guy over. Little bastard gave us quite a chase.” The policeman—tall, dark skin, navy blue hair—looked at Kuroko up and down curiously. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You new?”

“I just moved recently,” he replied. Technically, he was still in the process of moving.

“New blood, huh?” the policeman mused. “Don’t see much of that these days. Name’s Aomine Daichi. I have a son around your age, you know. His name’s Daiki. I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for you in school.” He paused, and looked Kuroko over. “Might be hard though. You have an exceptionally weak presence.”

“I know.”

“Well, I gotta put this guy behind bars. Be careful out there, kiddo. Strange things are happening in town these days.” His eyes seemed to age a decade. From his shorter vantage point, Kuroko noticed heavy black bags under the policeman’s bloodshot eyes, along with a permanently wrinkled forehead that bespoke many hours of work and stress. “What with the murders and strange disappearances and all…” He shook his head. “Ah, I shouldn’t be burdening you with my troubles. If you see anything odd, report it to the police, you hear?”

Kuroko nodded politely. “Yes, sir. Good day, Aomine-san.”

“Heh. You’re a good kid. Wish mine’s as polite as you.” Aomine Daichi ruffled Kuroko’s hair and led the robber away.

Kuroko watched the man and the robber speed away, slightly concerned. He had heard about the murders in Seirin; the media had labelled it as a serial murder case. The first victim had been Alexandra Garcia, a well-known WNBA player from America. She was on vacation, staying in one of Seirin’s most famous landmarks, the Akashi Inn. Two weeks into her vacation, she was found dead hanging upside down from an antenna, absolutely no marks on her body. The body had been found by a local high school student named Sakurai Ryou. A few days later, _his_ body was found dead hanging upside down from another antenna, his body in a similar flawless state, leading everyone to speculate that he had seen something that the murderer didn’t want him to see, and wanted to silence him. Three weeks after Sakurai Ryou’s body was found, another man was murdered: Aida Kagetora, a retired athlete and current (well, former now) basketball coach of Teikou Academy. His body had been found in a state similar to that of the other two just yesterday, although they hadn’t released who found it to the public for safety reasons. The media eagerly latched onto the fact that all three victims were involved in basketball and ran away with it.

Was it a good idea to move into a town with a serial killer running amok? He mulled over it for a few seconds before deciding that he was in little to no danger thanks to his low presence. He highly doubted the killer would notice him, even if he joined the basketball team.

Eventually, the bus arrived and took all the waiting passengers to Seirin, dropping them off at the shopping district. Kuroko hefted his duffel bag onto his shoulder and eyed a nice little ice cream shop over by the corner, surrounded by teens wearing the Teikou uniform. What he really craved right now was a vanilla milkshake, but there were no stores selling milkshakes in sight, so vanilla ice cream would have to do…

He entered the establishment and had to wave at the teen behind the counter before he was noticed. He bought a vanilla popsicle. Taking the frozen treat with a quiet thanks, Kuroko sat on one of the stools and ate the popsicle right then and there (he hadn’t had something vanilla in a while). Finishing it in record time, he kept the popsicle stick, staring it as he stepped onto the street and turned right—only to catch sight of a lonely-looking girl staring at the crowd of teens eating popsicles together outside the ice cream shop.

The pink-haired girl, who looked to be attending Teikou, didn’t seem to be part of the rowdy group. She looked like she needed cheering up. Hm, whenever he was feeling lonely, something vanilla usually cheered him up… Kuroko walked in front of the girl. “Excuse me.”

The pink-haired girl blinked. She seemed startled at Kuroko’s presence. “… Hm?”

“I don’t want this anymore. Here. You can have it.” He gave the girl the popsicle stick.

“What?” The girl frowned at the offering. “I can have it? You’re… giving me your garbage? Isn’t that kind of mean?” She turned the stick over, unimpressed… then her eyes widened.

It was a winning stick.

Kuroko did not see the wild blush that overcame the girl’s cheeks, nor her subsequent love-struck look. He was already walking away.

.

.

.

He rang the doorbell to his new home and waited.

Five second later, a white-haired elderly woman with a nice, kind smile opened the door. “Oh, you must be Tetsuya! Come in, dear.”

“Thank you, Obaa-san.” Kuroko stepped onto the porch, taking off his shoes, and followed his grandmother into the living room. Overall, the house was quite small, but it suited Kuroko just fine. He had never been fond of large houses, especially if he was the only one living in them. Kuroko’s grandmother’s house was small and cozy, just the way he liked it.

“You may not remember me, dear,” his grandmother said, taking a seat on one of the armchairs. She gestured for him to put down his duffel bag and make himself at home. “Last time I saw you, you were just a little toddler, barely able to walk. My name is Kuroko Miyuki, your father’s mother.”

Kuroko bowed. “Nice to meet you, Obaa-san. Please take care of me.” He sat on the couch facing the television, close to his grandmother. It was turned onto the local news station, the extremely annoying news anchor rambling about the serial killings in Seirin. Miyuki saw him looking at the television and sighed sadly.

“Yes, the situation is quite scary right now, with an unknown serial killer on the loose. I hope the police catches the culprit soon.”

“The police are working very hard,” Kuroko said, remembering Aomine Daichi’s exhausted face.

“Yes, they are. But enough about that. Come here, dear.” Miyuki smiled gently and placed a wrinkled hand on his cheek. “Oh my, you’ve grown so much… Gosh, do I feel old! Tell me all about Tokyo, Tetsuya-kun; it’s been a while since I left Seirin…”

.

.

.

After regaling his grandmother with tales from Tokyo, Kuroko went upstairs to unpack his things. His room was small, with a basic bed on the left side, a desk below the window on the right, a shelf and a closet pushed against the wall, and an old television set in the corner. He worked very quickly, hanging his clothes in the closet, setting up his bed, putting his small collection of books on the shelf. After that he went downstairs to help his grandmother with the cooking. Miyuki wanted to cook yakisoba for dinner but she was out of noodles, so Kuroko offered to buy some. He remembered there being a grocery store in the shopping district.

Grabbing his wallet and his coat, he went outside and headed straight for the shopping street. It was evening, so there weren’t many people around. Most of the stores were closing already, but thankfully the grocery store was still open. He went in, got the noodles, and got out in record time.

On his way back, he bumped against someone (two people in one day—go figure), spilling his bag of noodles on the sidewalk.

Inwardly cursing, Kuroko shook his head and hurriedly gathered the noodles back into the bag.

Stashing the last packet of noodle away, he raised his head and saw a figure standing in front of him. He looked up and found the figure belonging to a red-haired boy with striking red and gold eyes and a cold look on his face, his left hand holding a dark red duffel bag. Kuroko bowed to him. “I apologize for bumping into you.”

“… It’s no matter,” the red-haired boy said impassively. He walked away. Kuroko watched him go for a moment before continuing on his own way.

“Hey!” a loud voice shouted. “Anyone lost a pack of noodles?”

Kuroko paused.

“Noodles! Noodles! Who dropped a pack of noodles on the sidewalk?” Kuroko counted his bag of noodles—yep, missing one package. He went over to the tanned boy with a basketball under his arm, waving a pack of noodles around and tapped his shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

The boy yelped and cursed loudly, head turning back and forth trying to find the source of the voice. “Who-Who’s there!”

“I am here,” Kuroko said monotonously. He waved a hand in front of the boy… who seemed to realize that there was a light blue-haired boy suddenly standing in front of him.

“Ahhhh! Ghost! Please don’t eat me!”

“I am not a ghost.”

“Like hell you’re not! Where did you come from!”

“I’ve been here since the beginning,” came his standard reply. “I believe you are holding onto my noodles?”

“Your what? Oh, err, yeah, here you go.” The boy calmed down and handed over the noodles to Kuroko, who nodded his thanks and put it back with the rest. “Say, I’ve never seen you before. Let’s see, light blue hair, light blue eyes, pale skin, weak presence…” His eyes widened. “Oh! You’re that kid my dad wanted me to look out for!”

Kuroko tilted his head questioningly.

“I think you met my dad this morning. Aomine Daichi ring any bells?”

“Oh,” Kuroko realized. So then… “You are Aomine Daiki-kun?”

The boy saluted. “Yep. At your service.”

“Of course,” Kuroko murmured. “My name is Kuroko Tetsuya. It was nice meeting you, Aomine-kun, but I must get home now. My grandmother is waiting for the noodles.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Aomine stepped aside and waved at Kuroko’s retreating back. “See you in school, Tetsu!”

.

.

.

_Heavy fog._

_A lonely road._

_A voice._

_Another presence. A strange figure._

_“… Interesting… It seems you can see a little, despite the fog…”_

_._

_._

_._

_“You shall not catch me so easily… If what you search is ‘truth,’ then your search will be even harder…”_

_._

_._

_._

_“Everyone sees what they want to… And only the fog deepens…”_

_._

_._

_._

_“Will we meet again…? At a place other than here… Hmm, I look forward to it…”_


	3. DC (Batman) - Press Start 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce the Zombie Slayer

After explaining to Alfred exactly why there was a floating invite hanging in front of his face, the two sat down in the living room and discussed the implications of Bruce’s new ability.

“I’m Level 1,” Bruce grumbled. “Why am I Level 1?” He looked at Alfred. “How did you get to Level 56?”

“Experience, I imagine,” Alfred said promptly.

“I need more experience,” Bruce muttered. “Need to get stronger… I can’t protect Gotham when I’m this weak…”

**Mission Alert! What Doesn’t Kill You**   
**Objective: Reach Level 15 within three days.**   
**Completion Reward: +800 EXP, healing salve**   
**Failure Penalty: -5 SAN, permanent title: Weakling (-5 STR)**   
**Do you accept? [YES] [NO]**

“Why does it keep targeting my sanity?” Bruce cried.

“Excuse me?”

“I have a new mission.” Bruce accepted the mission because he was _not_ a weakling! “Mission objective: reach Level 15 in three days. If I fail, I lose a bit of my sanity and become a weakling.”

“Well then, I suppose you better get right on that. Us residents of Gotham have precious little sanity as it is.” Alfred stood up. “Will you be using the gymnasium, or would you prefer to go outside?”

“I think I will be going to the park. I want to see how I measure up to people other than you.” He looked pointedly at Alfred’s LV 56. “I have a feeling you’re not exactly an average person.”

“Be careful out there then. And, if you wouldn’t mind, would you please uninvite me from this… party? I do not enjoy having mission alerts pop up every time I decide to clean the house.”

* * *

 

Bruce was right. Alfred was far from average.

Using his Observe, he noticed that the average adult level tended to be around the twenties range, teenagers were around the low tens, while children and infants had levels in the single digits. (To his embarrassment, he had the same level as an infant sucking on a pacifier. He needed to rectify that immediately.) And then there were people like Alfred, the extraordinary exceptions to the norm. There were Alice Kingsley (LV 50), Arjun Rayat (LV 43), Maya Wilkes-Francisco (LV 39), and Hiroshi Fukada (LV 51). Alice Kingsley was a police officer. Hiroshi Fukada, he saw, was limping and wearing dog tags, so he inferred that he was probably a military officer who retired due to injury. He overheard Arjun Rayat telling his friends he was training to compete in the next Summer Olympics. Maya Wilkes-Francisco had been writing complicated-looking codes on her laptop in a café. These special people tended to be brilliant in their fields, and thus had appropriately higher levels than the average person.

**Your Observe skill has levelled up! You can now view other people’s HP and MP.**

Bruce looked at a teenage girl texting on a park bench.

**Michelle Wong (LV 12)**   
**HP 600/600**   
**MP 400/400**

Hmm. Better Observe some more. He was curious about the limit of the Observe skill.

He walked around Gotham Observing people for about an hour, improving his Observe skill to Level 10 and gaining the ability to view other people’s profiles before he decided he needed to start on that mission. He didn’t know how to level up though. Did he just need to go to the gym and start lifting weights or...?

**You have gained a new skill!  
Instant Dungeon Creation**

Bruce stopped walking and sat down in the middle of the grassy park.

**Instant Dungeon (ID) Creation  
Used to create Instant Dungeons. Good for grinding and gaining unique loot found nowhere else in the world. The higher the level, the harder the dungeon. Dying in a dungeon will result in you being teleported in the dungeon menu alive, but you will lose all the points, loot, and skills you’ve acquired during that session. Note: Your body will disappear from the real world and reappear again once you exit the dungeon, so be careful where you use this power!**

He saw that a new bar called ID creation was available. He casually walked to a copse of trees, made sure no one was looking, mentally clicked on the ID creation button—and the world shattered.

“What the—!” Bruce stood up and looked around. All around him was darkness. And then a pop-up appeared in front of him.

 **Instant Dungeons:  
Zombie Apocalypse (LV 1-99)  
Goblin Wars (LV 100-199)  
Unda Da Sea (LV 200-299)  
Alien Invasion (LV 300-399)  
Robot Overlords (LV 400-499)  
Fantasy Realm (LV 500-599)  
Space Explorers (LV 600-699)  
Demon World (LV 700-799)  
Gods of the Universe (LV 800-899)  
Evil Earth Extreme (LV 900-999+)  
** **[exit id creation]**

This was way too weird. Was he in some sort of pocket dimension? He was tempted to exit, but he was incredibly curious as to what the Zombie Apocalypse dungeon looked like. So…

**Instant Dungeon Create: Zombie Apocalypse**

The world shattered again, returning him to Gotham, only this time there was no one around… no one but zombies.

Bruce gagged in revulsion as he saw a walking corpse limp slowly across the park. The stench was unbelievable. Wait, was this how he was supposed to get stronger? By killing zombies? He didn’t watch much movies, never mind zombie movies, but from what he heard, most zombie movies involved a lot of people shooting the undead in the face. No, he was not going to use guns. Ever.

Another window popped up in front of him.

 **Select your weapon!**  
**Revolver**  
 **A gun with five bullets. It has a leather handle. ATK 10, DEF 0, DUR 5/5**  
 **Kitchen Knife**  
 **A common kitchen knife. The blade is slightly chipped. ATK 5, DEF 5, DUR 5/5**  
 **Trash Can Lid**  
 **A salvaged metal lid. It smells like trash. ATK 0, DEF 10, DUR 5/5**

Bruce studied the floating weapons in front of him. ATK and DEF obviously meant attack and defence respectively. DUR, he guessed meant durability. The revolver was out of the question, period. He didn’t think going after zombies with only a trash can lid would be very smart, so he picked the kitchen knife and hoped he would be fast enough to avoid getting bitten. He Observed the nearest zombie and held the knife in front of him.

 **Weakling Zombie (LV 1)**  
**HP 50/50**  
 **MP 10/10**

And then he hesitated. He swore he would never take a life, not after what happened to his parents. Did zombies even count as a life?

**Zombies aren’t alive, moron. Also, the inhabitants of the dungeons don’t actually exist, they are literally figments of your imagination (although you can take their loot to the real world—don’t question it!), so feel free to kill everything in sight!**

Okay then.

Bruce raised the knife and lunged at the zombie’s throat.

**Critical strike!  
Critical strikes do twice as much damage as a normal attack. Aim for the enemy’s weak points!**

The zombie groaned and turned to Bruce. It only had a bit of HP left, so he dodged its hand and stabbed the knife into its gut. The zombie turned to dust, leaving behind another kitchen knife, a rotting organ, and a five-dollar bill.

**You have gained a new title!  
Beginner Zombie Slayer: +5 VIT, +5 END, +5 SPD, -5 SAN, attacks are 15% more effective when fighting the undead.**

**You have gained two new skills!**  
**Knife, Beginner**  
 **Item Attraction**

He could easily guess what the Knife skill referred to, but he wasn’t sure about Item Attraction.

**Loot within a certain range will automatically be placed within your inventory. The more you exercise this skill, the wider the range. Current range: 0.5 metres.**

Bruce grimaced and let the attracted loot go into his inventory. The Beginner Zombie Slayer title was useful for this dungeon, but was he willing to risk more of his sanity to more efficiently kill zombies?

Yes. Yes he was.

(That was probably his negative SAN stat talking.)

So he switched the Heir to the Wayne Fortune title with the Beginner Zombie Slayer title, and set out to hunt more zombies.

He exited the park and paid no attention to the crumbling buildings and overturned cars blocking the roads. He created a rhythm of sneaking up on a zombie, dealing a critical strike, and finishing it off with a final stab to the gut. He did that for every Weakling Zombie he encountered. Stalk, strike, stab; stalk, strike, stab. The zombies would drop loot once defeated, but he ignored the items, letting the Item Attraction stow it away in his inventory. His weapons dissolved a couple of times when their durability ran out, prompting him to summon another knife (loot from the zombies) from his inventory, and kept on going. He disregarded the level up notifications and would’ve continued to obsessively slaughter more Weakling Zombies until he came upon a slightly different enemy.

 **Mook Zombie (LV 5)**  
**HP 130/130**  
 **MP 40/40**

Bruce backed away slightly and hid in an alley, letting the zombie walk past him. It didn’t look too different from a Weakling Zombie, except it was standing slightly straighter and trudging slightly faster. It also had clawed fingernails. The zombie moaned and turned its head in Bruce’s direction.

“Come get me!” Bruce snarled. He charged the zombie head on and slashed at its throat. The zombie retaliated by clawing at his arm, drawing blood and dealing damage to Bruce’s HP bar for the first time.

“You rotting…!” The boy punched the Mook Zombie in the throat and cut off its clawed hands with the knife. Then he stabbed the zombie in the face repeatedly, blood and gore flying everywhere, until both the zombie and the knife turned to dust. A little shocked by his own viciousness, Bruce sat down on a nearby bus stop for a moment to gather thoughts. He wiped his face and shuddered at the streak of foul-smelling zombie blood at the back of his hands.

“Well it’s not like you can just lower your own sanity without repercussions,” he told himself. “Everything has a price. You need to get stronger so you can protect Gotham and everyone you love.” Only Alfred, at this point. “They don’t actually exist, so they’re not dying. And they’re dead already anyway, so if this was real it would probably be a mercy.”

Bruce nodded to himself, summoned another knife, and continued his mission. The farther away from the park he went, the stronger the enemies he encountered—which meant more Mook Zombies and the next ones in the hierarchy, the Running Zombies (LV 12). These zombies ran rather than walked, and had the same nasty claws the Mooks had. These ones were a bit trickier to deal with, but eventually he found that they couldn’t bend down very well, so staying low and striking when their backs were turned were the most efficient way to deal with them.

After a couple hours of zombie slaying, Bruce finally managed to reach Level 15. It was surprisingly cathartic. Bruce even found himself cackling at times. (He really needed to do something about that SAN stat.) He also discovered more about how the video game reality worked. For example, eating that bar of chocolate he received as his reward for reaching Level 2 healed a good chunk of his HP and MP. Testing it again with a granola bar and some chips he found in an abandoned grocery store, he found that most foods healed his HP or MP in varying degrees. Using a Band-Aid healed his HP a bit (as well as instantly closing the cut he used it on), and drinking three bottles of Gatorade completely restored his MP and blew away his exhaustion. He also noticed that the more he levelled up, the more time it took for the level up notifications to pop up. Levelling up took more time and effort the more he got stronger. That was fine, he wasn’t a stranger to hard work. (Granted, the hard work and effort usually came in the form of studying or practicing the piano, but he was adaptable.)

**Level Up!  
Reward: +10 points, $30, Carbon Steel Combat Knife (ATK 30, DEF 17, DUR 20/20)**

**Mission Complete!** **What Doesn’t Kill You**  
**Objective: Reach Level 15 within three days.**  
 **Completion Reward: +800 EXP, healing salve**

Bruce let out a weak cheer, slayed one last Running Zombie, and dragged himself to one of the display beds at the store. He had been trawling through Gotham, fighting zombie after zombie. Somehow, he had ended up trapped inside a small mattress store full of running zombies and had to kill every single zombie inside before the dungeon allowed him to exit the building. Well, screw that, he was taking a break. Zombie slaying with only knives was exhausting. He laid down on a luxury mattress (still no match for his own bed at home) and checked his stats.

 **Bruce Wayne (LV 15)**  
**HP 134/1100**  
 **MP 90/1100**  
 **EXP 820/1600**

 **STR 5**  
**VIT 5 (+6)**  
 **END 5 (+6)**  
 **SPD 6 (+6)**  
 **DEX 9**  
 **INT 14**  
 **WIS 14**  
 **LUC 3 (-5)**  
 **SAN 3 (-25)**  
 **Points: 77**

Levelling up didn’t automatically raise his HP and MP—it just gave him more points and some useful items. He had to specifically allot points to VIT and END to improve his HP and MP. On one hand, that sucked. On the other hand, it gave him more choices on how to distribute the points he gained.

His luck and sanity were his worst stats, which was normal. He wondered if there was a way to get rid of the stupid Tragic Orphan title. Leaving that thought for later, he decided to add twenty-three points to SAN; ten each VIT and END; five to STR, SPD and LUC; and three to DEX. He switched out the Beginner Zombie Slayer title with the Heir to the Wayne Fortune title. Finally, he ate the last of the food he got from the grocery store to restore his HP and MP.

 **Bruce Wayne (LV 15)**  
**HP 1600/1600**  
 **MP 1600/1600**  
 **EXP 820/1600**

**STR 10**   
**VIT 15 (+1)**   
**END 15 (+1)**   
**SPD 11 (+1)**   
**DEX 12**   
**INT 14 (+5)**   
**WIS 14 (+5)**   
**LUC 8 (+5)**   
**SAN 26 (-15)**   
**Points: 16**

There. At least he wasn’t crazy anymore. He would save some of the points for emergencies, if he was ever in a situation where he needed his stats to be higher but did not have the time to level up. Bruce then checked his inventory, which materialized as a holographic 20x20 grid with miniature objects inside, sorted alphabetically and by type (food, weapons, materials, etc.), sometimes with a little number on the bottom left of the box to indicate how many he had. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the loot the zombies dropped and was surprised (and a little disgusted) at what he had managed to attract. There were the ever-present knives that he favoured (including the Carbon Steel Combat Knife he got as a reward) as well as the occasional revolver and various random shielding items, but there were also rotting hearts, rotting brains, severed hands… Why in the world did he have so many rotting body parts? Then he remembered that his LUC stat was also in the negatives during his zombie hunt. It was probably because of that. In any case, he didn’t fancy carrying around decaying organs in his inventory. Was there a way to get rid of this stuff?

“You called?”

Bruce jumped and whirled to the corner of the mattress store where the voice came from. Blending in with the shadows was a black-cloaked figure, a hood veiling their face in darkness. The figure carried with them a large white scroll across their back.

“Who are you?” Bruce held out his new knife cautiously.

“I am the Merchant,” the figure said in a deep, androgynous voice. “Would you like to look at my wares?” They unclasped the scroll from their back and rolled it out. The scroll glowed for a moment before hovering beside the Merchant, showing grids of weapons in a formation not unlike Bruce’s inventory. Instinctively, Bruce waved a hand and the grid slid to another page, this time showing edible items. Another page showed clothing and armour.

The figure pointed to the bottom right of the scroll where the sell and exit buttons were. “If you wish to sell, simply press this button and select which items you wish to exchange for money.”

Bruce pressed the button and the grid changed to show his inventory with little numbers above the boxes indicating how much they were worth. To test it, he sold two of the rotting zombie hearts ($0.50 each) and his money counter increased by one dollar.

The figure raised a finger. “And another thing…”

 **You have gained two new skills!**  
**Crafting**  
 **Crafting allows you to create new items from materials you obtain from dungeons. The higher your level, the more complex and powerful creations you can make. Note: you can only craft using materials from the dungeon realm.**  
 **Inventing**  
 **Inventing allows you to create new items from materials the real world. The higher your level, the more complex and powerful creations you can make. Note: you can only invent using materials from the real world.**

And then a new window popped up on the top right of his vision. It looked suspiciously like an incomplete map of downtown Gotham.

 **You have gained a new skill!**  
**Mapping**  
 **Mapping allows you to automatically map out all the places you’ve been to in the dungeons. It also marks any important destinations you have discovered such as landmarks, boss fights, and the location of the Merchant.**

Indeed, beside the arrow icon representing himself was a glowing pink M icon, which stood for the Merchant. Well… that was convenient. As for the crafting and inventing skills… Ugh, he was too tired to deal with figuring out how to craft useful things from zombie innards, so he flicked through his inventory, selling all the rotting zombie drops and revolvers while keeping the other weapons and random paraphernalia (just in case). After one last sweep of his inventory, he exited the shop and watched as the scroll rolled itself up and settle on the Merchant’s back. The Merchant didn’t move an inch.

“I will be here, as well as other places, if you need me,” they intoned.

Bruce hesitantly nodded and turned his back to the Merchant. Interacting with the Merchant felt unnerving, like talking to a realistic marble statue starting directly at his person. He supposed he would just have to get used to it, if he was going to be using this… power from now on.

Rubbing his eyes, he pressed the ID escape button. The zombie world shattered like glass, transporting him back to the real world.

And then he realized that that might not have been the best idea.

He returned at the exact same place he was before, which was in the copse of trees. Except he had spent the last three hours slaying zombies, and unless you were really awesome, you couldn’t really go through something like that without getting a bit of gore in you. He made a sound of disgust as he futilely tried to wipe the gore and guts from his face and clothes before giving up.

Good thing he put his phone in the inventory.

He called Alfred to pick him up from the park, asking him to bring a change of clothes and a couple of towels, and made sure to warn him about his current state. Alfred, ever the stoic butler, didn’t visibly react when he reached Bruce, merely handing him the clothes and towels and dutifully turned his back when the twelve-year-old boy tried to make himself look as presentable as possible given the circumstances.

He still had bits of zombie in his hair, but it was enough for the short walk back to the car.

“I see you’ve had yourself quite an adventure,” Alfred noted while driving back to the manor.

“I survived two hours in a zombie apocalypse,” Bruce said nonchalantly. “Also, I’m Level 15 and not insane anymore.”

“Brilliant. I shall have to prepare a special lunch to celebrate your return to sanity.”

“Thanks, Alfred.” The two spent the trip back to the Manor in silence. Bruce raced for the bathroom the moment the car stopped, desperate to wash the blood and zombie bits from his person. He had never had a more blissful shower. He contemplated staying there for eternity, but Alfred was waiting for him downstairs with the special lunch and he didn’t want to miss that, not after he had just spent a whole lot of energy fighting zombies. (Also his fingers were getting wrinkly.)

Lunch was fantastic. He was so hungry, he asked for seconds. Alfred was pleased; Bruce rarely asked for seconds. He told Alfred all about his morning: the information hovering above everyone’s heads, the instant dungeon creation skill, the zombies he fought, and the Merchant. Alfred remained quiet throughout all this, only a faint smile betraying his amusement and fondness for his surrogate son.

“This is it, Alfred!” Bruce shoved more food into his mouth. “This is how I’m going to get stronger! I’ll just go there—everyday—fight zombies—and then to the other dungeons—I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll beat them all—!”

“Now, don’t be so hasty, Master Bruce.” Alfred raised a hand to calm the excited boy down. “You do still have other obligations such as your education—“

“I don’t care about school!” Bruce burst out. “It doesn’t matter, I’m smarter than all of the other kids anyway!”

“Nonetheless, I will not allow you to become a recluse whose only companion is an old codger like me.”

“You’re not old.” Bruce scowled. “And you’re not a codger. You’re all I need, Alfred. I’ll protect you too.”

“As heartwarming as that is to hear, you need friends your own age. In addition, your father wished for you to complete your education at Gotham Academy.”

Bruce faltered at that, then recovered. “Then I’ll just have to graduate early.”

“Master Bruce…”

“No, Alfred, I can’t stand it there!” Bruce was aware he was sounding whiny at this point. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. “Everyone there is so frivolous; all they care about are the latest phones and fashion and how much their parents are making and no one gives a rat’s ass about the corruption in the police force or the mafia controlling the government or the children being orphaned by gang wars and psychopaths!” Bruce shoved his empty plate away angrily and stood up. “It… It bothers me, Alfred. My classmates… they are the future of Gotham, and to me, the future of Gotham looks like high society being paid off by criminals to turn a blind eye to the problems wreaking Gotham and no one caring about the issues that led to my parents getting k-killed that night in the first place.”

A moment of silence, Bruce’s heavy breathing and occasional sniffling the only sound coming from the dinner table.

Alfred crossed his hands on the table. “But Master Bruce, if indeed you see these children as the future of Gotham, then how are you ever going to change them for the better from outside the school walls, without ever deigning to speak with them?”

Bruce scowled. Alfred continued.

“You know as well as I do that a good portion of your peers’ parents are involved with organized crime. Young minds are quite malleable. If you leave them now, their parents are only going to draw them deeper into their businesses and continue their illicit activities. Will you leave and deny them an alternative to their illegal family vocations? Or will you stay, give at least some of them a chance to save themselves from a life of perpetuating organized crime?”

Bruce sat down, biting his lip. “… Fine. I’ll stay. But only for a few years. I will graduate on my sixteenth year, and then I will travel the world to seek knowledge from masters.”

Bruce’s face was set, and Alfred knew there was no more arguing with him. “Alright then.”

Bruce went to bed, names swirling in his head as to who he knew he could turn. Harvey Dent, Tommy Elliott…


End file.
